A Thanksgiving to "Remember"

 A really strange day. No visit to my relatives on Park Place in Brooklyn, since they decided to do Thanksgiving on the 15th. I was there---it was fun. No problem with no plans, since I had many sessions with the the three days previous, and wanted a "blank" day. So one movie choice--what would it be...?  Nahan-ism, at the Quad-a documentary about a 90 year old man who joined the victorious American army in 45, only to be stationed in Nurenberg and assigned to guard Nazi war criminals awaiting trial. Of course, Nathan was Jewish too, so you had a Jew guarding and interacting with the very men who were the architects of the Holocaust. But Nathan was also a spontaneous artist, and as he guarded, he made etchings of the prisoners who he interacted with.  A harsh, brutal immersion into the brutality of the Holacaust with other issues as Nathan's followers in the present attempt to verify his claim to being there. I felt immersed in the horror but undrestood that was what I had chosen--left feeling that I had experienced something very intense.

Returned to the apartment---feeling very tired---aware that on this Thanksgiving with many others celebrating together that I was alone. Had my meal--the computer ready, but for some reason I refused to open it. Spent the next 10 or so hours resting--or sleeping--would wake up feeling "blank" Would not te-open the computer--could have easily done so and checked out the football scores or visited other sites--but did not. Why? Did I feel I was only being "fair" to the movie by not moving my imagination in another way. Thought of this incredible juxtaposition: Thanksgiving and the Holocaust--somewhat amazing.

Friday morning--it is over now--calm returns--as do the visits to the web sites that I usually visit. Today--possibly a free day--maybe on session---tonight the Met has an opera which I am very familiar with---Strauss' Die Frau Ohne Schotten---not sure if I want to live through it--but as I look at the schedule of performances this one seems the only one I can be sure of attending.  Oh well---"problems, problems" can be solved soon.

So it is three weeks later---

 I don't think that I wanted to wrtte anything since the election. But have just returned from Geffen Hall, where I sat in the lobby while Bronfman was playing Beethoven's 3rd piano concerto. Amazing! Just what I needed this evening---the brilliance of Beethoven. Nice go be able to sit in the lobby---in a chair by myself---and simply get the performance from the live feed that the Philharmonic now supplies. Great way to see a concert---one just hears the one piece one wants to and then can move on. In this case, after the intermission the Orchestra performed a symphony by Nielsen---and I had no desire to hear it--plus I was incredibly tired ---so time to go home.

Waiting for the bus on 66th and Broadway, noticed a woman traveling with a walker. On a closer look I realized this was a woman named Susan---a close friend of mine during my last year of high school. I walked over to her to say hello---but somehow she did not respond--on the bus, also, she looked straight ahead---I followed her on, but did not say hello---leave it alone. Yet there she was, this woman whom I once shared thoughts with about  friend of her who I dated for awhile. Memories of those conversations with her so specific--where are they now? 

Had two great sessions this morning with two very different children---the first--a shy third grader,s struggling with her math skills, the second a lively fifth grade boy with a good mind---we worked on fractions and decimals. Felt very vital with both of them.Lots of sessions ahead---even with the holiday weekend approaching.

Nobody seems to be talking about the coming administration--all conversation seems to be "normal"--that is life just seems to be moving on. A radio station lauds the fall weather---theater and concert schedules into the first three or four months of the new year seem to present a world oblivious of any changes that this new administration will cause.

Tomorrow mostly a free day. Still would love to catch up on some movies---well can do that on Thanksgiiving, since the Thanksgiving that I usually spend with my cousins has already passed. We had it last Friday because some relatives did not with to travel on or around the holiday. Makes sense--actually looking forward to a quiet day at home,

Restless night...Halloween over

 Around 4:30. Have slept enough---my body wide awake, or at least functioning somewhat normally. Me at the computer. I go to the maps of the Bronx---for some reason my brain (vision) wants to explore Echo Place. Echo Place is a small street that simply appears out of another street, near the Grand Concourse in the Bronx. My uncle Henry and Aunt Celia lived on Echo place---from time to time our family visited then---those were always "nice" visits--there is a park nearby, called Echo Park and I remember playing there with some other neighborhoo't td children, But at that time the area was all white and overwhelmingly Jewish. Now, of course, it is almost completely black and Hispanic, working class. What do I remember most when I see the picture of the street on the map? Safety--a calm neighorhood, totally non violent. Would I go there now? About three weeks ago on a Saturday afternoon, I "wandered" around a few streets about half a mile south of Echo Place. I was the only white person there, and yes, I got some "looks". So I don't think I will visit Echo Place soon---or maybe I will---or should.

Memory--a hunger for "what"? I see my childhood in those streets, the visits to my relatives, many of whom lived in that area. I see my three years at Bronx Science in those streets because so many of the students in the class of 60 lived either on, or in close proximity to the Grand Concourse. But how does one put the two worlds together? An integration that seems impossible. If I returned to Echo PLace now, say on a Saturday afternoon, with everyone out and about, I would still feel as if I did not belong---but I don't. Just as when I walk on Nostrand Avenue in Brooklyn, north, from Eastern Parkway to Fulton Street I understand that twenty or thirty years ago, I would have felt very uncomfortable on those street, now I am "pretty good" with it---no real apprehension.  So where does that leave me? 

Close to 5 A.M. in an hour, I can visit the coffee cart a block and a half away from where I live---make my first contact of the day. Their coffee can at times be "awful" but at $2.00. it offers something reasonable financially for this time. That's all.

Another Sunday morning....

 Where do we go from here? Woke up feeling strange...alone...odd dreams from the night--now having had my coffee, and wandered a bit around the upper west side, am trying to figure out what to do with the day. An interesting theater project in Brookyn at the Brick--but that is at 5; do I want to build my day around that. Bronx Doc has two documentaries that are interesting, but that means going to the Bronx--the space is located in a working class mostly black and Hispanic neighborhood---I have been there before--actually pre pandemic many times, and always had a meaningful time, but do I want to take a deep dive into the Bronx. Maybe just hit my friend's bar at 1 and immerse myself in pro football for a few hours, and figure it out from there. Or what about visiting the Center for Fiction in Brooklyn and just reading---I really like that. Yes---choice after choice---but where am I in all this?

Two play reports: Last Sunday--Our Class at CSC--a really brilliant afternoon of theater-a "holocaust" play---very strong--a great cast and a brilliantly conceived production. Very stimulating. Yesterday night,went to a production of Twelth Night at a small theater in the west village. A very focused and coherent production of the play---excellent ensemble acting---I actually thought this was a musical version of the play---it isn't---but successful nevertheless. Always would like to see a production in which Orsino and Malvolio are played by the same actor---but probably won't, But that is the great thing about Shakesepeare---it can always be explored. The theater was actually an off Broadway theater during the "first era" of off Broadway (about 55 to 67)--I remember seeing a production of Behan's The Hostage there probably during my second year at Hopkins (Christmas vacation) 

That's it for now---will try to figure things out--a very busy week ahead with many students, then infusion, then visits to theaters in Brooklyn already committed for Saturday and Sunday evening. Stay tuned.

Gather your thoughts....

 so many "voyages" in the last few days. Yesterday, a walk on a placid street in Washington Heights, followed by a documentary about summer of 65 at the Film Festival---yes, I finally made it! But am I better for it? Obsessing about getting into a film showing at the Festival sometimes is more interesting then aactually going to it  But there I was-at 7;15 last night--plenty of seats available for the semi-documentary entitled TWSD---named after the Beatles song from the early sixties. Interesting documentary--juxtaposes the Beatlle "mania" of the teen age girls as the band arrives for its August 65 visit to NY and its performances at Shea Stadium with the Watts riots in LA and the sentiment of black citizens living in Harlem at the time. Then back to three young women--all white and privieged---on their way to the Beatle concert at Shea. Interesting---though the final segment--see above---seemed to go on for too long. Still not sure what the creator of the movie--he wrote and directed it---meant by the juxtaposition of the two worlds. No talk afterwards---on the way back to my apartment, longed for someone to have a dialogue with about the movie, but this did not happen. Tomorrow is the Festival's final day---hope to see one or two movies that are showing--also hope to check out at least one George Stevens movie at the Film Forum---also tomorrow--a day off. Can I do it? Will I? Stay tuned.

Today going to see a matinee of a play at CSC. Our Class--a serious play about a group of Jews and non Jews who grew up together before World War II as friends, and how the war changed them. Long and intense--my friend Richard is one of the ensemble. He plays the oldest person in the group---I met him around 89 when he was just out of Brown---he did several readings for me, while I was doing them. Now he plays the elder. Well time moves. Had been promising myself that I would check the play out soon, and finally made the move yesterday morning when I reserved my seat. Afterwards.depending on my energy, may go to my friend's bar on Avenue C and ninth and watch football and maybe the first Met playoff game. Will have to see how I feel.

Two days off in a row---does not happen too often---then back to the "grind" which means probably no night life choices. Would like to change that...can I? 

Why So Few Entries...

 You can do better. Your trip to the Bronx actually two trips, one on a Saturday and the one to BronxScience on the next day. The Saturday trip: A voyage between 170 and 175 street off the Grand Concourse ---I area that, as the few readers of this blog my know, was all Jewish and prosperous when I was growing up. Now, all black and Hispanic ---I did not see one person on my travels who I would consider "white" Well, why was I there? I thought some sneakers at a Foot Locker located on 170 near Jerome Avenue would be cheaper then in Manhattan. Of course I was wrong---they were either as expensive or a little more. I received some "looks", like what was I doing in the neighborhood, but no problems. Subways easy to navigate. 

What am I to make of this? It was Saturday afternoon---lots of people were out. I went because I wanted to get in touch with some memories, (or some ideas of memories) of my childhood. I know it is a different neighborhood now--still trying to "bridge the gap" in my own head between my childhood and now. The next day I went to Bronx Science to play the role of "college interviewer" for six seniors. My third year of doing it-- lots of energy and good conversations. Bronx Science is located further north then where I was the day before, but still had to travel on the 4 train to its destination. Same thing--on the 4 train, I never sit--stand and look out of the door windows at that world that I once knew.

So we move on---yesterday a day all around Brooklyn---today, a body needing to recover from all the "action" of the day before. That trip---a story in itself, may be next, but not quite now. Stay tuned.

Reading Paul Auster....

 his memoir about the death (and then the life) of his father. Called, the Invention of Solitude it is a portrait of a rigid man---a man who should really never have been a parent---and its effect on his son. Of course, Auster, at that moment has incredible insight as he draws his father's l, ife---and the boundaries that his father set up to others. My own father was incredibly different, and yet the portrait resonated with me in a unique way. Why? Well I was born 4 years before Auster, so we were raised in a certain era with certain rules that were similar. Yet my father was "present"---took me on Sunday trips when I was 6 or 7; instilled in me a great love of performace---allowed me to absorb myself in it---was very comfortable with that---up to a point. Ah, but that "point". Is this where the personalities of these two incredibly different men of the era become similar. How can that be? Auster's father gave him no support as a child---could never give him praise---almost machine like in his day by day existence---an existence his wife, Auster's mother, had to endure for about 14 years. Well, it was the time. My father was thrilled when I did well--followed me closely--gave me praise when he felt I deserved it---but, on the other side of that--was quick to let me know if I had failed his vision.Even early on--when I was eleven and in the sixth grade, and did poorly on a geography test, he had no trouble letting me know his disappointment. Of course, it never occurred to him, that this imagination he had instilled in me, and was excited every time I went to the theater, would have found geography boring. Somehow, he could not make that distinction, for he was a teacher, and a test was a test ---I was "bright" so I had to do well on it. 

So one is left with more contradictions---unlike Auster's father my father was not afraid to get involved--yet like his father, he had blind spots, and if, in the course of the proceedings one "hit" those blind spots, a rigid pattern would replace all the giving. Well, they were of the same generation and the same religion--also were members of large famiilies, so maybe the undercurrents of that generation bonded them. Of course, socially they would have had no use for each other---the teacher who loved the arts and the businessman who saw money as survival. 

Now to real life--had a 'tiring" day yesterday, perhaps still dealing with the effects of the last infusion which was the past Thursday. Still, when I went out for coffee this early morning, felt good--my body telling me it wanted to move. Have a busy day today---have to thread my way through all my choices before I see my first student. Will report soon.